"Turn where ?" "Turn in, my boy," he replied laughing.

"Go to roost, I mean.

To bed-- if you understand that better." "But where shall I go, sir ?" I asked, catching his meaning at last.
"Come along and I'll soon show you," he answered, taking me down the poop ladder to the after-deckhouse, and hailing the steward to show a light: "There!" It was a little narrow box of a cabin with four bunks in it, two on one side running athwart the deck and two fore and aft.

The ends of these crossed each other, and they looked exactly like shelves in a cupboard; while, to add to the effect and trench on the already limited space of this apartment, the floor was blocked up by two other sea-chests besides my own, and a lot of loose clothes and other things strewn about.
The two bottom bunks were already occupied, Jerrold and Sam Weeks snoring away respectively in them; and one of the two upper ones was filled with what looked like a collection of odds and ends and crockery ware .-- This was the situation.
What was I to do?
I looked at Mr Mackay appealingly.
"Well, Graham," he said in answer to my look, "you must make the best of a bad job.

These two fellows have turned in first, so, as you're the last comer you've only got Dobson's choice in the matter of bunks--that top one there, which seems a little less crowded than the other, or nothing." "I'm so weary," I replied, "I can sleep anywhere.